Season
by Shiho Hahnenfuss
Summary: [asucaga] Winter in ORB isn't quite what Athrun expects. Mild fluff.


**Disclaimer:** Gundam SEED and all its characters, mecha, worlds and other components belong to someone else. I own a little hand-pillow with a little Athrun on it.**  
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**A/N:** Written for the ongoing Winter Challenge on the asucaga LJ community. Pre-Destiny oneshot.

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**Season**

Living on Earth, he found, was quite different from the uniformity of space colonies. In the latter, one could reasonably expect rain and sunshine in regular intervals, carefully programmed to follow a standard algorithm that the weather scientists had determined most fair for the benefit of the residents. Even the temperate seasons were emulated in PLANT; three months of spring, three of summer, ditto fall and winter. It was predictable enough by the time one turned the age of seven or so.

But the planet itself had an unpredictable and often capricious system known as 'climate', which tended to produce unusual conditions. He had heard about how extreme the desert could be, scorching in the day and below freezing in the night; he had seen the sudden break of a squall over tropical sands, and the arcs of natural lightning cutting gashes in the clouds. Different localities had changes in their personal weather systems (if they could be called such, given the sheer _randomness_ at times), and some had no concept of season at all, he knew that much from his studies... but experiencing it was a wholly different matter.

Rain in winter was one such caprice, Athrun noted bemusedly.

He stood under the safe shelter of the porch as the torrential monsoon spilled from some litospheric precipice onto the ground, turning everything beyond the curtain into a greyed blur that an unfamiliar eye could barely recognize. Strong gusts of wind lashed the rain into streaks and waves that crashed repeatedly to create a dull roar of noise, with the occasional rumble from the sky as thunder followed tropical lightning.

A hazy mist floated close to the pavement, the product of raindrops shattered into lighter wisps by the concrete, dissipating slowly as it ambled and spilled itself on the grass. Even the air itself was thick with water, the humidity cloying to what exposed skin it could touch; he could already feel his fringe sticking to his forehead. He brushed it back with wet fingers and stepped into the building, setting his umbrella to dry in an empty rack.

He came across one of the maids watering a pot of bougainvilleas and asked if the mistress was in. Yes, she was, came the reply. In her study as usual. A quiet word of thanks and he left, pant legs dripping a trail on the carpet.

Somehow it didn't quite make sense for house plants to be manually watered when there was abundant excess just outside. Maybe if there was some elaborate piping system, or if one just drilled a hole through the roof and all the floors, creating a small tunnel where the rain would fall right through and onto the plant... The idea amused him on his way up the stairs. He passed one or two portraits of Athha ancestors and several more decorative pots in the brightly-lit hallway.

As he expected, she wasn't in the study at all.

A stack of vellum slouched over one side of the metal inbox on her desk, upon which her most recent piece of paperwork lay pinned by the weight of a well-worn fountain pen. The curtains behind the abandoned office chair billowed with wind. He sighed, pushing them aside to reveal the wide-open window.

The first object that caught his eye was a blur of maroon being pounded into a puddle of mud by the water.

The second was the splash of yellow that floated by it, as one Representative Cagalli Yula Athha, respectable and well-loved leader of ORB, pranced about in the pouring rain.

Athrun rubbed his temples, a wry smile curling his lips as he observed the figure. He set his hands on the edge and vaulted over, his boots smacking onto the soil.

She whirled immediately at the sound, her open-mouthed glare fading into a grin when she saw who it was.

"Shouldn't you be working?"

"It's December." Cagalli cocked her hands on her hips. "Most people play hookey and get out in their freezing cold jacket-and-gloves winter at least _once_."

He held up a palm, feeling the raindrops smack into his skin.

"…This isn't quite it."

"It's my snow. Cool, not chilled, and soaking through everything." She tilted her head up and stretched her arms out to the sides, her legs stepping around the grass like some giant yellow-crowned crane spreading its wings. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

A smile flitted across his features as he turned his own gaze skyward, letting the water wash the dirt and grime off his face.

There was something liberating about standing under the waterfall, feeling it seep through layers of clothing and into the bone; he supposed that anyone looking for symbolism in the act would immediately point out some correlation between the physical washing and a parallel of the spiritual (which, he thought, certainly could apply to him), but for now... it was just rain. Glorious rain.

Something wet and heavy slapped onto Athrun's arm, jerking him out of his musings.

A mischievous smirk was on her face as she held the soaked jacket in one hand, twirling it in circles.

"You're doing that thinking thing again," Cagalli commented.

He eyed the gobs of mud trickling down his clothing, narrowed his eyes at her briefly, and peeled off the green shirt he wore.

"I suppose I could use a diversion," he mock-growled. Her eyes widened slightly as she backed away.

The rest of the evening was filled with shrieks and yells of varying tones as the two chased each other around the garden, exchanging muddy slaps and blows. At some point or another it degenerated into a mud-flinging contest, with him slowly gaining the upper hand, until Cagalli finally gave up on the projectiles and tackled him into a puddle. Tussling with each other and laughing throughout.

Like children, playing in the snow.

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End file.
